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1. Caffé Viennese

2. German Espressos

3. Brazilian Breve

4. Coffee Cantata

5. Cappuccino Suite

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791)

Piano Quartet in G minor, K. 478

Composed 1785 in Vienna

It comes as a surprise to many listeners that most of the chamber music of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries—including the great chamber music of Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, and Schubert—was written for performance by “amateurs” in private homes. Before the days of radio, CDs, and mp3s, if you wanted to listen to music, your options were quite limited. Either you went to one of the relatively few concerts in your area—keep in mind the difficulty of traveling even short distances in those days—or you played music yourself at home. There was a tremendous market for music written for “amateurs” for “entertainment” at home. The talents of these “amateurs” varied widely (and the quality of the “entertainment,” too, I’m sure), some being extraordinarily accomplished (professionals in disguise, as it were), others considerably less so. Generally, these “amateurs” were the daughters and sons of upper and middle class families. Typically, women played the keyboard (either the harpsichord or fortepiano in Mozart’s day); men played the string and woodwind instruments. (It was not considered seemly for women to hold cellos between their legs, flutes to their lips, or violins upon their bosoms.) Wise composers kept this in mind as they were planning their musical ventures, and rarely wrote beyond the average performance abilities of the day.


As the owner and operator of one of Vienna’s foremost music publishing businesses, Franz Anton Hoffmeister knew his customers well and aimed to offer them brilliant, engaging, but only moderately challenging music. With an eye to potential sales, Hoffmeister approached a rising young star, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, with a commission for three quartets in 1785. The quartets were to be written for the unusual combination of piano, violin, viola, and cello.


Mozart set to work quickly on the first of the series, the Piano Quartet in G minor, K. 478, finishing it in October of 1785, and by December, Hoffmeister had the parts engraved and available for sale. Hoffmeister thought the quartet was too difficult and worried that the public would not buy it. In an attempt to cut his imagined losses, he bought out Mozart from the remainder of his commission. (Nine months later, Mozart composed his second quartet anyway, the Piano Quartet in E-flat Major, K. 493; it was published by the rival firm of Artaria.)


Hoffmeister was right to worry about the “difficulty” and marketability of the quartet. In the Journal des Luxus and der Moden on June 1788, an anonymous writer observed

Some time ago, a single quartet of Mozart (for fortepiano, one violin, one viola, and violoncello) was engraved and published, which is very artistically composed and in performance needs the utmost precision in all the four parts, but even when well played, or so it seems, is able and intended to delight only connoisseurs of music.... Many another piece keeps some countenance, even when indifferently performed; but in truth one can hardly bear listening to this product of Mozart’s when it falls into mediocre amateurish hands and is negligently played.... What a difference when this much-advertised work of art is performed by four skilled musicians who have studied it carefully, in a quiet room where the sound of every note cannot escape the listening ear, and in the presence of one or two attentive persons!


Mozart often used the key of G minor for very impassioned music, such as the two famous symphonies in G minor, and the opening movement of this quartet is no exception. Mozart achieves a near symphonic opulence of sound through his rich writing for the strings, especially his extensive writing for the viola. We are reminded that Mozart quite enjoyed playing viola. His chamber music with prominent viola parts—the “Kegelstatt” Trio for piano, clarinet, and viola, the string quintets with two violas, and the two piano quartets—has a warm, rich, chocolaty sound. The music of the G minor piano quartet is contrapuntally complex, with imitative writing shared between all the instruments. (Perhaps this is the source of the “difficulties” of this quartet.) The second movement is a noble song that would not be out of place in one of Mozart’s more serious operas. And the third movement, in the sunny key of G Major, is Haydnesque in its rhythmic humor and conversational exchanges between instruments. Today, the Piano Quartet in G minor is considered one of Mozart’s great masterpieces and the first major work composed for the piano quartet.



Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827)

String Trio in G Major, op. 9, no. 1

Composed 1798 in Vienna


The music of Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827) is perhaps the best-known, most-often performed classical music. Every one of his thirty-two piano sonatas, eighteen string quartets, and nine symphonies is considered a cornerstone of the Western musical canon. Because of Beethoven’s incredible achievement, these three genres—piano sonata, string quartet, and symphony—became the genres in which composers of future generations had to prove themselves. It’s not until Liszt that we get a piano sonata on the level of Beethoven or Schubert (although there are many truly beautiful sonatas in that interim); it’s not until Brahms that we get symphonies on that level; and, dare I say it, despite the beautiful efforts of many a great composer, there are not yet string quartets on that level, though the quartets of Bartók and Shostakovich are very highly regarded. Beethoven, of course, had great success in other genres as well—the sonata for piano and violin, the sonata for piano and cello, the piano trio, opera—but his success in all these traditional ventures tends to obscure the many compositional “experiments” Beethoven made along the way. And, I would guess that his exceptional success in the well-known (and profitable) genres tended to discourage a deep exploration of these other more “experimental” genres.


One of these “experimental” genres was the string trio for violin, viola, and cello. Beethoven wrote five string trios before he ever attempted a string quartet; once he completed his first quartets, he never returned to the string trio. Some commentators assert that Beethoven chose to write trios early in his career to test his skills at handling string instruments in an “easier” genre while avoiding a direct comparison with the string quartet masterpieces of Haydn and Mozart. But on examination, this argument does not hold water. As Alec Robertson points out, it is more difficult to achieve richness of tone and variety of texture using three instruments than four. As it turns out, the string trio is a genre that was well-suited to the style galant—a style that emphasizes charm and tunefulness, and rarely makes serious demands on the listener—and less well-suited to Beethoven’s blending of high classical and early romantic styles. Beethoven abandoned the string trio not because it was an “easier” genre, but because it was a less appropriate medium for his musical ideas.


Beethoven’s first attempt at the genre was in 1793-94 with his String Trio in E-flat Major, op. 3. It is a charming work with the multiple movements characteristic of a serenade or divertimento. His second work in the genre, his op. 8 written in 1797, is actually entitled “Serenade.” The three string trios of op. 9, written in 1797, are an altogether different story. Like the then-recently-composed London Symphonies of Haydn, the op. 9 trios each have four movements, and show a seriousness of purpose that is lacking in Beethoven’s earlier excursions into this genre. These trios are a tremendous compositional success, and Beethoven is remarkably successful at making three instruments sound like four.


The String Trio in G Major, op. 9, no. 1, again like Haydn’s London Symphonies, has a slow introduction that announces the work’s seriousness of purpose. It continues with melodies, motives, and developmental techniques that owe much to the example of Haydn. (Beethoven had studied with Haydn in the early 1790s. He claimed to have learned nothing from the older master, but his music belies his claim.) The second movement has a mesmerizing, rocking movement that reminds me of a lullaby. The third movement is a scherzo full of typically unpredictable maneuvers. The trio concludes with a lively, sparkling Presto that again owes much to the influence of Haydn.



Franz Peter Schubert (1797-1828)

Piano Trio in E-flat Major, D. 929

Composed November 1827 in Vienna


Schubert wrote two great piano trios in 1827, the Piano Trio in B-flat Major, D. 898, and the Piano Trio in E-flat Major, D. 929. Today, audiences seem to prefer the generous spirit, good nature, and relative compactness of the B-flat trio, and critics invariably comment on the considerable length of the E-flat trio. But audiences of the nineteenth century felt just the opposite: Robert Schumann, for example, found the E-flat trio more “spirited, masculine, and dramatic in tone” than its B-flat counterpart. The truth of the matter is that both trios are incomparable masterpieces created by a composer who was only thirty years old—and both are quite substantial works. As the critic James Keller points out, Schubert rarely gives the listener the impression of being in a hurry—Schumann described Schubert’s music as being of “heavenly length”—and to fully appreciate these works, one must surrender to their leisurely sense of the passage of time.


Schubert seems to have agreed with Schumann’s assessment, as he chose the E-flat trio as the centerpiece of the only public all-Schubert concert held during his lifetime. The work was premiered on December 26, 1827 at the Musikverein in Vienna, and met with such approval that Schubert considered this an important advance in his career. Also, the trio was the only one of Schubert’s works to be published outside of Austria during his lifetime.


The first movement opens with a striking motive stated by all three instruments in unison. The movement is cast in a classic sonata form and has a strong sense of dramatic motion. The slow movement is one of Schubert’s greatest creations, an impassioned instrumental song without words. As it turns out, it is derived from a song with words. Schubert’s friend Leopold Sonnleithner reported that the tune of this movement came from a Swedish folksong “Se solen sjunker” (“The sun has set”) which Schubert had heard in a recital in 1827. Sonnleithner’s comments were widely discounted until the musicologist Manfred Willfort rediscovered the Swedish folksong in 1978. Although Schubert did not copy the tune of “Se solen sjunker” directly, he drew great inspiration both from its melody and its treading accompaniment. The third movement, a scherzo, features tightly-controlled canonic writing. The fourth movement is vast, covering nearly 750 measures; Schubert himself expressed concerns about its length, and authorized judicious cuts. The Swedish melody of the slow movement reappears several times in this wide-ranging harmonic landscape, most notably at the very end of the finale, transformed into the major key, lending a sense of catharsis to the entire work.


Program notes by Jeffrey Sykes, PhD. ©2012, CPMF. All rights reserved.

Richard Strauss (1864-1949)

Liebesliedchen and Arabische Tanze for piano quartet, TrV 169

Composed 1893 in Weimar


Richard Strauss grew up surrounded by music. His father Franz Strauss was a brilliant horn player who served as the principal horn at the court opera in Munich. He often took the young Richard with him to opera rehearsals. Franz was a musical reactionary who believed that music ended when Mendelssohn died, and his educational plan for his son focused on a thorough grounding in the musical classics. Richard received private instruction in music theory and orchestration from an assistant conductor at the opera. He wrote his first compositions at age six, taking Mozart and Beethoven as his models.


At age eighteen, Strauss enrolled in the University of Munich to study philosophy and art history, but soon left the university to study music. He won a post as the assistant conductor to Hans von Bülow in Berlin, then the most famous conductor in Germany, and thus began a long and productive career as one of the great conductors of his time. Bülow thought so highly of the young Strauss that he appointed him as his successor as conductor of the Meiningen Orchestra.


Although Strauss is best known for his harmonically adventurous and complex tone poems and operas (Der Rosenkavalier, Ein Heldenleben, Elektra, Till Eulenspiegel, Don Juan), his early compositions reflect his conservative training. Many of his early works are chamber or solo works, including two piano trios, a piano quartet, a string quartet, a cello sonata and a violin sonata. The Two Pieces for Piano Quartet, TrV 169, were written in 1893 as a Christmas present for Strauss’ favorite uncle Georg Pschorr. The Arabische Tanze (Arabian Dance), finished on December 7, was inspired by music Strauss heard on a trip to Luxor, Egypt the previous spring. An “eastern”-sounding violin melody floats over an ostinato provided by the piano, viola, and cello. The music could just as easily be gypsy-inspired as Egyptian in origin. The Liebesliedchen (Little Love Song) was completed on December 23 and is a simple, sweet and charming work that is as close as Strauss ever came to salon music.



Richard Strauss

Ruhe, meine Seele! • Cäcilie • Heimliche Aufforderung • Morgen! (op. 27, 1894)

Das Bächlein (op. 88, no. 1, 1933)• Standchen (op. 17, no. 2, 1885-1887)

Schlechtes Wetter (op. 69, no. 5, 1918) • Zueignung (op. 10, no. 1, 1885)

Herr Lenz (op. 37, no. 5, 1896)• Ich liebe dich (op. 37, no. 2, 1898)


Songwriting occupied Strauss throughout his long life. Strauss’ earliest songs date from 1870, when he was six; his Four Last Songs, his last completed compositions, date from shortly before his death. But the bulk of his song output dates from the years close to his marriage to the operatic soprano Pauline de Ahna in 1894. Although Pauline was known as being bossy and ill-tempered, apparently their marriage was happy. Richard and Pauline performed Lieder recitals all over the world, and many of his more than 200 songs were written for their performances.


Strauss’ first great songs are his op. 10 songs of 1885, including Zueignung, one of the mainstays of the recital repertoire. This was Strauss’ first year of independence from his family, and the op. 10 songs show an adventurous harmonic spirit that would no doubt have displeased his conservative father. The op. 17 songs, including the magical Ständchen, move still farther away from Strauss’ conservative upbringing. The four songs of op. 27 were written in 1894 in celebration of his marriage to Pauline, and given to her on their wedding day. If we need proof of the happiness of Strauss’ marriage, we need look no further than these four exquisite songs.


The Lieder composers Schubert, Schumann, and Wolf found their greatest inspiration in poetry of high literary quality—poetry by Goethe, Schiller, Heine, and Mörike, for example. In their songs, the marriage of text to music is so complete, it would be difficult to decide whether the music or the poetry is more important. Strauss, like Brahms, generally found his inspiration in poems of lesser literary value, and the composer’s melodies saved these poems from oblivion. (Who would have heard of the poet Hermann von Gilm were it not for Strauss’ Zueignung, Die Nacht, and Nichts?) Strauss looked for highly distinctive expressive images that could spark his musical creativity. In his songs, the melody is unquestionably supreme, and he worked at his melodies at great length. In his early songs, Strauss typically set poems by lesser-known poets of the mid-nineteenth century (Hermann von Gilm and Felix Dahn, for example). After his marriage to Pauline, he often favored fashionable contemporary writers. In addition to supplying striking imagery, these poems left enough expressive room free for Strauss’ music to soar; and indeed, the least satisfying of Strauss’ songs are those that set the greatest poetry.


Strauss’ op. 37 songs of 1898, including Herr Lenz and Ich liebe dich, were written shortly after the birth of his only child, Franz Alexander Strauss. In these songs, roughly contemporaneous with the great tone poems Also Sprach Zarathustra and Don Quixote, Strauss moves into a much more adventurous harmonic territory. The Fünf kleine Lieder, op. 69 (including Schlechtes Wetter) date from 1918, after the great public success of Strauss major operas Salome, Elektra, Der Rosenkavalier, and Ariadne auf Naxos. As we might expect, the harmonic language of these songs is still more complex. Strauss’ op. 88 Lieder (including Das Bächlein) were written in 1933 as Adolph Hitler and the Nazi Party were rising to power.



Johannes Brahms (1833-1897)

Piano Quartet in G minor, op. 25

Composed from 1857-1861


The three piano quartets of Brahms count among the truly great pieces of chamber music of all time. The third, the Piano Quartet in C minor, op. 60, was actually the first Brahms attempted. Its genesis dates back to 1855, although it was not completed until 1874. It is through and through a tragic work, Brahms at his most despondent. (It was performed in CPMF’s 2011 season.) The Piano Quartet in A Major, op. 26 (1857-1861), was the third attempted but second completed quartet. It is the longest of all of Brahms’ chamber music, and it luxuriates in an atmosphere of happiness and contentment. The Piano Quartet in G minor, op. 25, was the second attempted but first completed quartet, and it is one of the most popular pieces of chamber music ever written. It combines both the tragic qualities of the C minor quartet and the ebullient energy of the A Major quartet.


The first movement is symphonic in scope. It is dominated by a concise melodic motive that lies at the root of all the many themes we hear. The tightly-controlled structure reminds one of Beethoven, and indeed the violinist Joseph Hellmesberger, who performed in the work’s Viennese premiere, declared Brahms to be Beethoven’s heir after first rehearsing the work. But other musicians close to Brahms were less enthusiastic about this movement of the quartet. Both Joseph Joachim and Clara Schumann, lifelong friends of Brahms, voiced misgivings about the multitude of themes and the structure of the movement as a whole. The critic Eduard Hanslick, later a friend and supporter of Brahms, found the themes of the first movement “insignificant, dry, and prosaic.” Today the first movement is seen as a model of compositional economy and recognized as a quintessential example of what is most Brahmsian about Brahms.


Brahms originally entitled the second movement “Scherzo,” and likely changed the title to “Intermezzo” under the influence of Clara Schumann. She wrote to Brahms:

I cannot help thinking that if you had me in mind at all when you were writing [the piano quartet] you must have known that I should be charmed with the Scherzo in C minor. In fact, I should hardly call it a scherzo at all. I can only think of it as an allegretto.... But it is a piece after my own heart! I find myself so tenderly transported to dreamland that it is as if my soul were rocked to sleep by the notes.


Brahms later used the title “Intermezzo” for many of his most intimate and introspective piano pieces.


The third movement is a warm-hearted, noble chorale with a surprise in its central trio section: a “march” in 3/4 time reminiscent of Schumann’s “March of the Davidsbündler against the Philistines” from Carnaval. This charming and boisterous section reminds me of the “horse ballets”—dressage exhibitions—held at the Spanish Riding School in Vienna. The finale, a “rondo in the gypsy style,” is one of the most exciting movements in all of chamber music. In his youth, Brahms had accompanied the Hungarian violinist Eduard Reményi on a concert tour of Hungary, becoming fascinated with the “Hungarian” style in the process. (It was only in the early twentieth century that Béla Bartók proved that this “gypsy” style is not at all related to true Hungarian folk music.) Brahms’ experience in Hungary ultimately led to the four books of Hungarian Dances, the finale of the A Major piano quartet, and the thrilling, dangerously propulsive finale of the G minor piano quartet.


Program notes by Jeffrey Sykes, PhD. ©2012, CPMF. All rights reserved.

João Luiz and Douglas Lora will discuss their selections during their concert performance.

 

The Brasil Guitar Duo program is:

 

A. Piazzolla (1921 – 1992)  •  Zita

D. Scarlatti (1685 – 1757)  (transcribed by Sergio Abreu)  •  Sonata L305

Rameau* (1683 – 1764)  •  Gavotte and Variations

M. Castelnuovo-Tedesco (1895 – 1968)  •  Prelude and Fugue in c#m

H. Villa-Lobos*  (1887 – 1959)  •  Prelude from Bachianas nr4

D. Lora  •  Valsa e Posludio

 

Intermission

 

Edu Lobo/Joao Luiz  •  Casa Forte/ Zanzibar

J do Bandolim* (1918 – 1969)  •  Doce de Coco

Joao Luiz  •  Djavan's Portrait

E. Gismonti* (b. 1947)  •  7 aneis

M. Pereira  •  Bate-Coxa

 

*arranged by Joao Luiz

Nicolas Bernier (1665-1734)

Le caffé, cantata for soprano, flute, and continuo

from Cantates françoises, 3ème livre

Published c. 1711


In early 18th-century France, there was an ongoing struggle between supporters of the Italian style of music and supporters of the French style in music. Listening to these two styles side-by-side today, their similarities seem much more apparent than their differences. But at the time, the differences were a very big deal. Musical careers were made or lost depending on whether one supported the Italian style or the French style. Only in the music of the great François Couperin was a public rapprochement achieved between the styles. Two of the most popular genres of music at the time were the sonata and the cantata, Italian imports that were adapted in varying degrees to French tastes. The “sonata” was a piece to be played by instruments and found a home in secular environments; the “cantata” was a work to be sung and found its most stable home in the church. Nicolas Bernier (1665-1734) was one of the first French composers to write secular cantatas.


Bernier’s secular cantata Le caffé appears in his third volume of French cantatas written sometime around 1711. Bernier sets a text by Louis Fuzelier (1672-1752), a French dramatist writing in the style of Racine. Fuzelier praises the power of coffee to banish the effects of wine, clear the head, and enhance memory. But most importantly, coffee is one of life’s great pleasures:

Favorable liqueur [coffee] by which my soul is ravished, With your enchantments are our sweet days augmented; We trick sleep with your happy assistance, You return to us the moments that sleep robs from life. When a practiced hand prepares you, What pleasure is equal to that which you create? Your aroma alone promises the conquest Of mortals who have not yet felt your attractions.

Fuzelier’s words extolling coffee—and his caveat about “a practiced hand”—hold true to the present day.



Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750)

Coffee Cantata, BWV 211

Composed ca. 1730 in Leipzig


Johann Sebastian Bach’s Coffee Cantata is an altogether different beast. Written in the 1730’s for a performance at Zimmermann’s Coffeehouse, home of the Collegium Musicum of Leipzig, the cantata no doubt found a very receptive audience. It is a miniature opera in all but name, and the closest Bach ever came to writing music for the stage. The text is by Picander, the pseudonym of Christian Friedrich Henrici, a Leipzig poet and playwright. (Interestingly, Henrici also wrote the texts to Bach’s St Matthew Passion. Never were two works more different than the Matthew Passion and the Coffee Cantata.)


As mentioned before, women were discouraged from patronizing coffeehouses; it was not considered seemly for women to frequent such establishments. By all accounts, the citizens of Leipzig were especially enamored of coffee—and many citizens considered the brew to be a dangerous enticement to illicit behavior. Rather than extolling coffee’s virtues, Henrici satirizes the conservative establishment of Leipzig. Herr Schlendrian, a stick-in-the-mud Leipzig father, tries to break his daughter Lieschen’s addiction to coffee and the coffeehouse. He pleads with her to give up coffee; she responds that without her daily cup, she would be just like a dried-up goat roast. He attempts to bribe her, again to no avail, and finally threatens her: she will not be allowed to marry unless she gives up coffee. She acquiesces, and Schlendrian promises to find her a husband both rich and clever. But as soon as his back is turned, Lieschen manipulates the situation to her deep satisfaction.


Bach himself was a very serious man, and his music tends to be both thoughtful and spiritually profound, rarely humorous. In listening to the Coffee Cantata, I am reminded that Bach fathered some twenty children, four of them daughters, all of whom no doubt enjoyed a good cup of coffee and the attentions of an attractive barista now and again.



Felix Mendelssohn (1809-1947)

Octet in E-flat Major, op. 20

Composed 1825 in Berlin


Felix Mendelssohn (1809-1947) was likely the most precociously gifted musician the world has ever known. No one in the history of Western music—not even Mozart—produced such mature masterpieces so young: the third Piano Quartet and the Rondo capriccioso at age 15, the Octet in E-flat Major, op. 20, at age 16, the Overture to A Midsummer Night’s Dream at age 17. These are all core works in the musical canon. Not until Mozart reached his twenties did he produce music of such sophistication and power. A double prodigy on the piano and the violin, Mendelssohn grew up with every advantage one could have—supportive, wealthy parents, an incredibly diverse education guided by some of the greatest minds of the day, and a sister, Fanny, who was every bit the musical genius her brother was. Mendelssohn’s family arranged for performances of his works with their private orchestra in their home in Berlin. The intellectual and cultural elite of the city were regular guests at these salons, so Mendelssohn had what every young composer hopes for: the opportunity to try out new works for a discerning, sophisticated, knowledgeable, yet kindly disposed audience.


A charmed life, you might say, and indeed, Mendelssohn’s music, while beautiful and passionate, rarely shows signs of the inner torment typical of a Romantic artist. Never having experienced anything other than the best life had to offer, it’s no surprise that Mendelssohn wrote music of effortless elegance—a characteristic that led some of his contemporaries to develop a condescending attitude toward his work. His Jewish background, combined with his success and popularity, made him an easy target of envy, and a smear campaign of sorts began shortly after his death. Spearheaded by Richard Wagner in his anti-Jewish pamphlet Jewry in Music, this smear campaign ultimately led to the Nazi regime banning Mendelssohn’s music and destroying statues built in his honor. More insidiously, it led to an undervaluing of Mendelssohn’s work that persists to some degree even now. Considered during his lifetime one of the greatest cultural figures of all time, his star shines less bright than it deserves today.


Mendelssohn’s first forays into the world of chamber music were three piano quartets, written in 1822, 1823, and 1824. All three are fantastic works, but the last, in B minor, is probably his first masterpiece. The next year, 1825, age 16, he wrote his great Octet—the greatest such work ever written and one of the irreplaceable masterpieces of chamber music. (One would do well to remember that Beethoven and Schubert were both still alive and active at this time. Schubert’s great Octet for winds and strings had been written only the year before.) Mendelssohn wrote the Octet as a birthday gift for his violin teacher Eduard Rietz, and the virtuosic first violin part is clearly a testament to Rietz’s playing. The string octet was not a standard combination of instruments; Mendelssohn may have been drawn to this instrumentation because of the twelve string symphonies he wrote between the ages of 12 and 14. And indeed the music moves effortlessly between the larger-than-life expansive statements typical of symphonies and the intimate conversational expressions of chamber music.


Marked “allegro moderato ma con fuoco”—”moderately fast but with fire”—the first movement is bursting with joyous energy, sweep, and passion. The second movement is, by contrast, based on a simple melody that becomes more animated and restless. The third movement, a brilliant scherzo, transports us to the world of elves, fairies, dragonflies, and magic spells, a world Mendelssohn would revisit in his music for A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Throughout his life, Mendelssohn had a special talent for writing scherzos that are lighter than air, and this is one of his finest examples. Mendelssohn’s sister Fanny claimed the scherzo was inspired by the closing lines of the Walpurgisnacht dream scene in part I of Goethe’s Faust:

The flight of the clouds and the veil of mist Are lighted from above. A breeze in the leaves, a wind in the reeds, And all has vanished.


The finale, a Presto, features an eight-part fugato that showcases the young composer’s contrapuntal skills. The main theme of the Scherzo makes an appearance as a countermelody, further proving the sophistication of Mendelssohn’s polyphony. And if you listen carefully, you may hear echoes of the phrase “And He shall reign for ever and ever” from Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus. All in all, quite an achievement for a composer of any age, let alone a sixteen-year-old boy.


Program notes by Jeffrey Sykes, PhD. ©2012, CPMF. All rights reserved.

When people hear the title The Four Seasons they naturally think of Italian composer Antonio Vivaldi (1678-1741). His cycle of four concertos, written for solo violin, string orchestra, and harpsichord continuo, depicts the changing seasons of the year. The work is a justly beloved masterpiece, familiar not only from concerts and recordings but also from television, film, popular songs, and even the soundtracks for several popular video games. (And don’t get me started on cell phone ring tones!) Vivaldi’s “seasonal success” has inspired many other composers to attempt similar feats. We’re going to hear from two such composers tonight. The first is the great Argentinean tango master Astor Piazzolla (1921-1992), who responded to Vivaldi by writing the four works on tonight’s program, Quatro estaciones porteñas (“The Four Seasons of Buenos Aires”). And bassist and composer Evan Premo (b. 1985) offers us his Seasonal Song Cycle, four songs for soprano and double bass. Tonight we’ll hear a well-caffeinated dialogue between these three composers, a Cappuccino Suite.



Antonio Vivaldi is one of the most popular of classical composers. He was the most original and influential Italian composer of his generation, and his more than 500 concertos laid the foundation for the mature Baroque concerto. His contributions to musical style, violin technique, and orchestration were substantial, and he was a pioneer of orchestral program music. Perhaps the best example of his program music is his signature work, Le quattro stagioni (“The Four Seasons”).


In September of 1703 Vivaldi became maestro di violino at the Pio Ospedale della Pietà, a Venetian institution devoted to the care of orphaned, abandoned and indigent children and specializing in the musical training of those among the girls who showed aptitude. (Rumor had it that many of these “orphaned, abandoned and indigent children” were actually illegitimate children of members of the nobility and the clergy.) Services with music at the Pietà were a focal point in the social calendar of the Venetian nobility and foreign visitors, and it was essential to ensure both the competent instruction and rehearsal of the young musicians and the regular supply of new works for them. It is to this appointment, maintained off and on over many years, that we owe Vivaldi’s prodigious output of concertos.


It is not known exactly when Vivaldi wrote his Four Seasons. Scholars speculate that they were written in 1723, but we know for certain that they first appeared in print in 1725 as Vivaldi’s op. 8. The Four Seasons are the first four works in a series of twelve concertos published under the imposing title Il cimento dell’armonia e dell’inventione (“The Contest of Harmony and Invention”). The works did not receive particularly wide circulation at the time, and then they disappeared completely from view for centuries. They only resurfaced in a piano duet arrangement published in 1919! After the first recording of the work, made by Bernardo Molinari in 1942, the floodgates of popularity were thrown open, and it is very possibly the most popular piece of classical music today.


Perhaps the most unusual aspect of these very familiar concertos is Vivaldi’s inclusion of descriptive sonnets (believed to have been written by Vivaldi himself) in the score and parts. Program music—music created to tell a story—is common throughout music history, but it is quite rare for program music of any era to adhere so closely and faithfully to the text on which it is based, as Vivaldi does in these concertos. (I would suggest reading though the sonnets before listening to the music.) Vivaldi even adds further descriptive information to the score—information not present in the sonnets, like the barking dog of Spring and various weather effects in Summer and Autumn. He uses ingenious means to paint this text. He depicts birds with high trills traded between the violins; a stream is depicted with smoothly flowing sixteenth notes; rapid, descending scales are used for bolts of lightning; the barking dog is a solo viola. (This little fact has served as the basis for many a joke since Vivaldi’s time.) In the hands of a lesser master, these effects might overtake the musical narrative of the work as a whole. But Vivaldi’s hand is remarkably sure, for despite all of these disparate effects, the concertos have a powerful sense of unity and flow.




The powerful unity and flow of Piazzolla’s Quatro estaciones porteñas (“The four seasons of Buenos Aires”) comes from his compelling use of rhythmic gestures derived from tango music. Piazzolla’s Four Seasons are differentiated from Vivaldi’s by the adjective “porteño”. This word translates as “people of the port” and refers to people born in Buenos Aires. The Four Seasons of Buenos Aires were conceived as four separate works for Piazzolla’s tango quintet (piano, violin, double bass, electric guitar, and Piazzolla on the bandoneón), but Piazzolla performed them as a set from time to time. The first to be written was Verano porteño (Summer in Buenos Aires), conceived in 1964 as the first part of the Concierto del Angel suite. Otoño porteño (Autumn in Buenos Aires) followed in 1969, and both Primavera porteña (Spring in Buenos Aires) and Invierno porteño (Winter in Buenos Aires) were written in 1970.


Piazzolla was a child prodigy on the bandoneón, the traditional accordion used in tango bands. His family immigrated to New York in 1924, where Piazzolla became acquainted with Carlos Gardel (1890-1935), the master interpreter of tango, for whom he worked as an occasional performer. He returned to Buenos Aires in 1937 to give concerts and make tango arrangements. He also studied classical music with Alberto Ginastera. He won a scholarship that took him to Paris to study with master teacher Nadia Boulanger. (Remember her from Girls’ Night Out, the older sister of Lili Boulanger?) Piazzolla described his first meeting with Boulanger:

When I met her, I showed her my kilos of symphonies and sonatas. She started to read them and suddenly came out with a horrible sentence: ‘It’s very well written.’ And stopped, with a big period, round like a soccer ball. After a long while, she said: “Here you are like Stravinsky, like Bartók, like Ravel, but you know what happens? I can’t find Piazzolla in this.” And she began to investigate my private life: what I did, what I did and did not play, if I was single, married, or living with someone, she was like an FBI agent! And I was very ashamed to tell her that I was a tango musician. Finally I said, “I play in a ‘night club.” I didn’t want to say “cabaret.” And she answered, “Night club, mais oui, but that is a cabaret, isn’t it?” “Yes,” I answered, and thought, “I’ll hit this woman in the head with a radio....” It wasn’t easy to lie to her. She kept asking: “You say that you are not pianist. What instrument do you play, then?” And I didn’t want to tell her that I was a bandoneón player, because I thought, “Then she will throw me from the fourth floor.” Finally, I confessed and she asked me to play some bars of a tango of my own. She suddenly opened her eyes, took my hand and told me: “You idiot, that’s Piazzolla!” And I took all the music I composed, ten years of my life, and sent it to hell in two seconds.


Piazzolla developed a distinctive brand of tango (called “tango nuevo”) that fused elements of the old popular song and dance forms together with classical elements such as fugue, extreme chromaticism, dissonance, elements of jazz, and expanded instrumentation. At first, his experiments were condemned by the old guard of Argentinean tango, but by the 1980s, his music was widely accepted around the world, and he came to be seen as the savior of tango. In the late 1980s his music began to be played by classical performers, most notably the Kronos Quartet and the violinist Gidon Kremer.


While each of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons consists of three movements, the better to explore different aspects of the season at hand, Piazzolla’s Four Seasons are just one movement each. However, each of these movements has three sections that depict the varying moods of the season. And we must remember: these are the seasons as experienced in a bustling twentieth-century Latin-American metropolis, not the eighteenth-century Italian countryside. While Piazzolla intended these works for his tango quintet, they have been arranged for many different combinations of instruments. I have heard the work in its original form, as a piano solo, as a guitar solo, for piano trio, for string quartet, for bandoneón with string orchestra, for string orchestra alone, and for the unusual combination of woodwind quintet, three cellos, and double bass. But perhaps the most ingenious and compelling version I have heard is the one being performed tonight: Leonid Desyatnikov’s arrangement of the work for solo violin, string orchestra, and harpsichord.


As you will recall, that’s exactly the instrumentation of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. Desyatnikov—who has “re-composed” these works rather than merely arranged them—makes great use of this fact by creating connections and allusions between the two composers’ works. First of all, he turns Piazzolla’s ensemble work into a series of concertos, just like the Vivaldi. (The solo violin part of these arrangements is seriously virtuosic, as it should be, given that it was written for the great violinist Gidon Kremer.) Desyatnikov requested that when his arrangement was performed together with the Vivaldi cycle, one should begin the concert with Vivaldi’s Spring and end with Piazzolla’s Spring, alternating composers in-between, giving the listener a sense of the turning of the seasons. To heighten this further, Desyatnikov ends his Spring with a direct quotation from Vivaldi’s Spring played by the solo harpsichord. It’s a haunting effect that brings the listener full circle. Desyatnikov also reminds us that when it’s winter in Italy, it’s summer in Argentina. To acknowledge this, Desyatnikov weaves in quotes from Vivaldi’s Winter into his version of Piazzolla’s Summer and similarly quotes from Vivaldi’s Summer in his version of Piazzolla’s Winter. Throughout the movements of his arrangement, Desyatnikov skillfully works other motives and tropes from the Italian baroque into the tango texture, creating a powerful mélange of these two very disparate styles. His “arrangement” is a work worthy to stand beside Vivaldi’s beloved classics.




In contrast to Vivaldi and Piazzolla/Desyatnikov, Evan Premo gives us the seasons as a group of songs in his Seasonal Song Cycle. The poems he chooses—by E.E. Cummings, Rose Fyleman, the Japanese poet Bashu, and Elinor Wylie—pick up many of the themes Vivaldi expressed in his sonnets. Premo writes of his work:

I love living in a northern part of the United States because the seasons are so distinct. This song cycle celebrates each of these seasons with some of Mary’s [soprano Mary Bonhag, his wife] and my favorite poetry. We rejoice in spring with “in-Just” by E. E. Cummings. He describes the season as “mud-luscious” and “puddle wonderful.” On the page, Cummings uses extra spaces between some words and I try to remain true to his intentions by adding time in between those words as they are sung. In the second song, Rose Fyleman describes a “Summer Morning,” where she is running through a meadow. The regular iambic tetrameter of the poem and pastoral setting of the content suggested to me the feeling of a jig. Fall is depicted with a translated haiku by the Japanese poet Bashu: “It would melt in my hand, the autumn frost.” This short text is sung at the beginning and the end of the song and the middle contains swirling vocalises to represent leaves being blown by the autumnal winds. The final song, “Velvet Shoes,” with poignant poetry by Elinor Wylie, celebrates the silence of a snow-covered landscape.


Sit back, relax, and enjoy this suite that celebrates the seasons!


Program notes by Jeffrey Sykes, PhD. ©2012, CPMF. All rights reserved.

Program notes written by

Jeffrey Sykes, PhD.

 

©2012 CPMF.

All rights reserved.

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© 2013, Cactus Pear Music Festival